


the prettiest of views

by parcequelle



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Community: femslashex, F/F, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-01-29 11:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21409114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/pseuds/parcequelle
Summary: It's appropriate, Beca thinks, that they should end up doing this here.
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2019





	the prettiest of views

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cdybedahl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdybedahl/gifts).

> This was written for cdybedahl for Femslash Exchange 2019. Enjoy!

This isn’t the first time, but it’s the first time like this: jasmine-scented bubble-water sluicing down her clinging arms, tangled hair in her eyes, Chloe’s fingers soft and nimble and everywhere at once. Chloe, Chloe, a soggy human pretzel wrapped around her, and this extra-slippery variation on their full-body contact theme is doing a bang-up job of shorting out Beca’s brain. She opens her mouth to say, ‘God, Chloe, I can’t think,’ only she doesn’t say that, because she’s Beca, so what she actually says is, ‘Hnnnng, Chlaaa—aargh,’ as she splutters around the mouthful of soapy water she half-inhales through her nose.

Chloe kisses her even through her laughter (which, to Beca’s unending relief, is the gentle and only vaguely mocking kind as opposed to the kind that makes her want to melt down the drain along with the suds), and Beca kisses back. She kisses back, pushes back, pushes her tongue into Chloe’s mouth and tilts her head and licks, because Beca may not be in danger of being mistaken for a smooth person, but she will sure as hell make up for it with enthusiasm. Beca licks along Chloe’s neck and up the angle of her jawline to suck one soft earlobe between her teeth, and she thrills at the guttural sound that rips forth from Chloe’s throat, at the way her head falls back and she bares her skin.

‘God, Beca,’ Chloe groans, ‘aca-mazing.’

Beca shakes her head on a laugh, kisses her way further down. She might have thought that by the time she reached the stage of mutual, consensual, non-impromptu-audition-related nakedness in the shower, she’d be a little less of a dork about it, but nope; Cool Town is still a stop on a whole different train line. Chloe, for whatever reason, does not seem perturbed by Beca’s frequent bad hair days or her inability to function like a human before 10am or even her chronic absence of chill, and damn if that thought doesn’t make Beca’s body throb even harder.

The water is hot, hotter than Beca can usually stand it, and she’s grateful for Chloe’s height, for those extra couple of inches, the extra set of limbs to break the lash of scalding heat. The steam is winding spirals up the transparent door of the shower, up and up to seal them in, she and Chloe in their own little white-filled world. Not that the steam really matters, not that it would matter even if the water were ice-cold, because Chloe’s body is heating Beca from the outside in, sparks where she touches, extra-spicy salsa exploding down through Beca’s blood whenever that hot, hot mouth connects with her skin. Thin and wicked and strong, Chloe’s fingers have migrated south, and Chloe laughs again, the delighted peal of a bell, as her other hand tweaks a nipple and Beca groans.

‘Problem?’ Chloe asks. ‘You want me to stop?’ She’s teasing, probably, but her voice comes out all steam-drenched and husky and—

‘Ugh,’ Beca manages, ‘hell no, don’t stop.’ She reaches out blindly and grasps at skin, desperate and impatient, but Chloe bats her hand away.

‘Uh-uh,’ she grins, eyes dark and playful. ‘Your turn will come, Miss Mitchell.’ Chloe slides around behind her, the drag of her nipples against Beca's back making her whine, and resumes her work.

Beca maybe ought to be past the stage where the mere sight of Chloe biting her lip, flirtatious and brazen, is enough to make her stomach twist and drop, but she isn’t. It’s lucky Chloe is supporting her with her improbably strong arms, because right now, Beca is little more than a boneless heap of former-person. Chloe’s fingers are still doing delicious, impossible, torturous things to her nipple while the other hand has snaked down, grazing fire over her hipbone as it meets its target; Chloe slips two long, thin fingers into slick, ready warmth and Beca drags in a breath, cants her hips up to meet her as Chloe’s thumb sweeps broadly up over her clit. There wasn’t much warning, and Beca bucks and gasps against the sudden excellence of Chloe’s fingers right where she needs them, Chloe pulling away to stroke just above, below, beside, before returning again and again, single brushes that have Beca actually whining like some sort of animal as the pressure builds and builds.

She is babbling, she knows she’s babbling, she’s maybe even _singing_, but God, she can’t care; Chloe has slid a third finger up into her and is moving them in and out and in again, rhythmic and steady like her voice, like her body. And then she’s twisting them, curling them, pulling Beca’s body against her and murmuring, ‘Come on, come on, let go for me,’ and Beca is shuddering against her, gripping Chloe’s arm where it wraps around her own waist, crying out as she comes.

It’s appropriate, she thinks, as she turns around in Chloe’s arms and slams her against the wall of the shower to kiss her, that they should end up doing this here. This is where things between them started, after all, Chloe and her gorgeous body and her even more gorgeous confidence pulling aside a curtain and demanding Beca sing, Beca unable to stop her eyes raking down and taking in and admiring, unable to stop herself voicing a compliment when given half a chance. Beca’s natural pessimism keeps trying to read too much into the fact that their song is “Titanium”, but she’d have been equally horrified by something cheesy and romantic, and at least their voices mesh well on the harmonies. She’s never going to sing Chloe a love song – she’s not that chick – but she’ll damn well make it her mission to get _Chloe_ to sing. Or maybe just cry out. And pull her hair a little while she does it.

The floor tile is hard and cool on her knees, but it’s worth enduring the discomfort for the way Chloe sucks in a sharp, aroused breath when Beca starts mouthing her way down her belly, her eyes closed against the pounding stream. She kisses down through the wet thatch of hair to where Chloe is slick and hot and hums against her, grinning when it makes Chloe shiver.

‘Yes, Beca, fuck,’ Chloe babbles, her elegant fingers twisting into Beca’s drowned-rat hair and giving a tug that feels like a massage.

Positive reinforcement is an awesome thing, and Beca responds to this example of it by licking a flat-tongued stripe up to Chloe’s clit and then back down before she can touch it. She presses open-mouthed kisses to Chloe’s centre, chasing her taste, and then, when she wants more, parting her lips with two fingers and slipping her tongue inside. Chloe bucks against her, crying out, and Beca feels the thrill of victory all over; she’s already wet again, wet from the way Chloe responds to her still-unskilled tongue, and yep, this is _totally_ worth the soreness in her knees.

Chloe talks a lot all the time, so it’s no surprise that she talks a lot during sex, an ever-more-enthusiastic stream of praise (Beca kind of likes that), encouragement (she definitely likes that), and affectionate, detailed promises to repay the favour at her earliest convenience (she _really_ likes that).

‘You’re amazing, Beca, fuck.’ Chloe’s fingers are tight but careful as she arcs up into the press of Beca’s mouth. ‘You’re so good, you make me crazy, I want to taste you again, fuck, I love you—’

Beca nearly chokes, and not because Chloe is rutting against her tongue, nearing her peak. She’s never said that before. Did she mean it? She’s about to come, so probably not, right? You can’t trust what people say when they’re about to come, can you?

She sucks Chloe’s clit into her mouth anyway, grips her hips and sucks until she tips over the edge and Beca has to pull back to breathe. Water is still sluicing down her face and her body, but she opens her eyes into it, dares to look up.

Chloe, blissed out and smiling at her like she’s… something precious, or some shit, actually kneels down beside her on the uncomfortable shower tile and kisses her, kisses her own taste right of Beca’s mouth. ‘I meant it,’ she murmurs, when she pulls back. ‘I’m sorry if it freaks you out, but I’m not going to take it back.’

‘It doesn’t freak me out,’ Beca manages, conscious that her cheeks are probably red from something other than the scalding water. She can’t say it back, not yet – banging a super hot chick on the regular hasn’t made her any less of an emotional disaster, okay – but Chloe seems to understand. She looks like it’s enough that she’s been allowed to say it, and that it hasn't made Beca run for the hills. She looks… _happy_.

‘So that was fun,’ Beca says, because they’re kneeling on the floor, gazing at each other too soppily, and if she doesn’t ruin the moment she’ll start to squirm. ‘Wanna get a burger and then do it again?’

Chloe smiles at her, gentle and knowing, and says, ‘_Heck_ yes.’


End file.
